Living Stone Architecture

by biilboard-dinosaur

Harry Potter is 18 years old and he doesn't know who he is. Now that Lord Voldemort has been defeated, he's just a random guy who doesn't even know what he likes to do for fun. Or, the one where Harry Potter doesn't know what to do with himself after the war, so he becomes an architect, makes new friends, falls in love, and accidentally changes the world.

3. 2000 – 2001

In which Harry returns from his travels.

---

III. 2000 – 2001

Harry Potter is 20 years old, and he knows who he is.

This is not dramatic to say. He has spent the last two years in a soul-searching world tour and he spent the majority of that in the Haryana State of India. He is fluent in Hindi. He has a chosen profession and a dream. He is very afraid, though, to contact his friends.

This is also not dramatic to say. Harry has not contacted Ron or Hermione since he left two years ago, despite promising to visit for holidays. He has been gone for far longer than he said he has been. He has no idea what they are doing, what their careers are. He is worried that they will pressure him to become something he doesn't want to be if he meets them—to join the Ministry, like those politicians tried to do when he was trapped in their box for that short period of time at the Quidditch World Cup in Ukraine in 1999.

Harry is less recognizable, with his more traditional Indian apparel that he became fond of wearing in Haryana. He has tanned, after months in the unforgiving summer sun. The scar has faded; his eyes are still bright green. Harry decides to stay at the Leaky Cauldron. He checks in under his Indian name, Advait.

As soon as he steps inside the building, though, he cringes. The building is practically on the verge of collapse. The only reason why it is still standing is the ample amounts of ambient magic that serendipitously flows through the building daily due to its position as the main entrance into Diagon Alley from the non-magical London.

Harry feels immensely obligated to talk to the bartender. Harry tells the bartender that he really ought to refresh the building's construction spells or else risk the building falling completely apart.

The bartender just stares at Harry with confusion. "'Scuse me? Construction spells? This building's built."

Harry nods in agreement. "Yes, you're right," he says. "But they're wearing out, you see. Once they wear out, the building will fall apart."

The bartender gives Harry a blank look and says, "Sir, with all due respect, are you sloshed?"

"No!" Harry says, slightly offended. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you. But you really must get this building repaired, I promise you. Hire an architect or a construction firm, and they'll agree."

The bartender sets down the glass he had been cleaning. "There's no such thing as an architect in Britain. They all left during the war, and haven't come back. If you know so much about it, why don't you fix it yourself."

Harry sighs, "Really, I'm not licensed to work here. I don't want to get in trouble with the law."

The bartender laughs. "The law? No one is going to get mad at you for casting spells no one even knows about. You better do it, or else when the building collapses, it'll be on your head. You're hired," the bartender says. "Your payment will be one butterbeer, since I don't know if you're even doing anything worthwhile yet."

Harry stares at the bartender in slight disbelief. "You're not joking, are you?"

The bartender picks up the glass he set down and continues to clean it, all the while staring directly at Harry's face.

"Go right ahead, Paki."

Harry clenches his teeth. He's aware the bartender is trying to insult him—but Harry refuses to acknowledge this. "I'm Indian, not Pakistani. I was going to fix your spells, but now I think you should find someone else, or actually pay me instead of comping me some of your trash butterbeer."

He turns around and tries to back away from the counter but someone stops him. It's someone familiar—he can't remember her name.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that guy. He's a total arsehole. No one here likes that. Come sit with me and my sister?" she says. She's blonde. He thinks she was in his year. He realises that she doesn't recognise him. This might be entertaining.

"Sure, as long as that guy doesn't talk to me anymore," he smiles. He follows the girl back to her table. It's in the corner, under several notice-me-not spells. Harry immediately realises how foolish he was at the beginning of his trip to confuse the powerful longevity spells for these weak charms; they're vastly different.

"We're right under these. We don't like the attention," she says apologetically. Harry shrugs.

"I can relate," he says plainly. She looks at him quizzically, but seems to ignore the statement and then leads him under the charm and to the table.

To Harry's vast surprise, he finds the girl's sister, and Draco Malfoy—wait, Draco Malfoy? He certainly wasn't expecting that.

Well, Harry thinks, let's see if he recognises me. He's willing to let their past lie.

Harry's mind races. How does he introduce himself? He will see if Draco Malfoy recognises him first, and then—maybe he'll try Advait? Or Harry Potter? He doesn't know—but he knows that lying will only dig him into real holes when he's with people he knows so he's decided to be honest.

The girl sits down, and Harry takes the remaining chair.

"Hey, sorry I took so long; this poor guy was getting bullied by the bartender," she gestures to Harry. "By the way, I'm Daphne Greengrass. This lovely lady is my sister, Astoria. And this is her fiancé, Draco Malfoy."

"It's nice to meet all of you," Harry says and, to his bewilderment, shakes Draco's hand, after Draco extends his hand first.

"So where are you from, mysterious stranger?" Astoria asks.

Harry smiles and sits down in his chair. "Here, actually."

Draco raises his eyebrow. "Seriously? Did you get home-schooled? I don't remember you from Hogwarts."

Harry laughs, "Oh, I went to Hogwarts. And I sure remember you."

Daphne leans forward to stare at Harry closely, and then her eyes widen. "No way. No way."

Harry meets her eyes and smiles wryly. "I know, this is kind of funny to me."

Daphne falls backwards in her chair and laughs. She runs her hand through her hair, shaking her head. "I can't believe I didn't recognise you at first. Wow, I feel stupid."

Astoria looks at Harry. Her eyes also brighten with realisation and she grins. "Well, I don't think I ever spoke to you, so I can't be blamed."

"No, I think you're good," Harry says, smiling in return.

Draco is still sitting there, his eyes narrowed. "I don't know anyone who was Indian from Hogwarts."

Harry bites his lip to keep from laughing—he's been told he has a recognizable laugh.

Astoria tries to kick Draco in the leg, but misses and hits Daphne instead. "Ouch! That was me," Daphne says. Astoria mouths sorry but she apparently retries and this time was accurate because Draco's face crinkles up in pain.

Astoria says, "Are you completely forgetting the Patil twins?"

"Oh, Merlin, you're right," Draco groans. "But you're not a girl—I have no idea. You can't be anyone I didn't like or you wouldn't be sitting here so—"

This breaks Harry's restraint and he bursts out laughing, as does Astoria and Daphne. Draco looks even more confused.

"What, it's not like you're Potter! He's vanished off the face of the—oh no, you're Potter, aren't you?" Draco says, his face pinking, sparking Daphne and Astoria to laugh even harder.

"You caught me," Harry says. "Harry Potter, at your service."

"What the hell, Potter," Draco says. "You don't look anything like you did at school. You've grown a whole foot, at least. And you're all—" Draco gestures to Harry's general form.

"Indian?" Astoria says. Harry chokes on his water.

Draco blushes even deeper. "Shite, Astoria, you're making me seem racist and—"

"Oh sweetie, you've dug yourself a hole you can't climb your way out of," Astoria says.

Draco groans. "I'm sorry, Potter. I'm so embarrassed. You'd think I'd recognise my childhood arch-nemesis."

"Wow, I'm flattered. Arch-nemesis?" Harry says, "I must've been pretty important. I'm hurt you didn't know it was me."

"You've changed!" Draco says in an attempt to defend himself. "You don't look the same!"

Daphne cuts Draco off with a wave of her hand, "Just shut up, Draco." She turns to Harry and says, "Okay, Potter. Tell us where on earth you have been these past two years! No one has known anything and then randomly I find you here, of all places!"

Harry smiles lightly. "I've actually been all over the earth, to be honest."

"That's tosh," Draco says. "You've been hiding somewhere and just got a nice tan."

Harry shakes his head, "Nope, it's all true. I've gone on a two-year world tour."

"Two-years? Alone?" Astoria asks. "Wasn't that lonely?"

"Actually, no, not really. I made lots of friends. Although, I did spend a lot of time in India. That's where I picked up these stylish clothes," Harry says as he gestures with a silly flourish to his clearly foreign outfit.

"See, that was why I didn't recognise you," Draco says. "The old Potter would never have worn something so exotic!"

"You're really not helping the whole 'I'm not racist' case, Draco," Astoria says with a giggle.

"No, he's right," Harry says, giving Draco a hand. "I didn't have anything other than trousers and hand-me-downs from my cousin. I looked a proper fool. To be honest, I don't know how to shop, really. These clothes are all from friends dragging me to stores when I was in India and them dressing me up like a doll."

Daphne says, "Okay, but you do realise that since you're back in London, you've got to try and wear more British stuff, or more people will be cruel to you like that ridiculous bartender?"

Harry twists his lips in acknowledgement. "I really don't want to have to shop for whole new clothes just to avoid unpleasant people, you know? Besides, it's my culture—my father's culture. And it's really comfortable."

"You can't fault a man his comfort!" Draco exclaims. Somehow, he has obtained a large glass of firewhiskey and is steadily draining it.

"You hate shopping that much?" Daphne says incredulously.

"Yes," Harry says.

"So," Astoria says. "What brings you back to Britain?"

"I'm starting a business," Harry says.

"Oh, whoa—a businessman!" Draco says.

"He's trying to get drunk, isn't he?" Harry asks no one in particular.

Astoria looks at Draco for long while with a sad look on her face. She agrees. "You must have been a very large shock to him. He's drinking harder than he has in months."

Harry grimaces. "I'm sorry about that. If I could have fore-warned you, I would have."

Astoria shrugs. "It was going to happen eventually."

"Well, Draco has issues that are his own. Tell us about this business—what kind? Because I'm pretty sure that your old crowd was spouting off how you were going to become an auror or join the Ministry," Daphne says.

"Wait, who was saying that?" Harry asks, surprised.

"Pretty sure it was just about every Gryffindor you were friends with. Granger, Weasley—that crowd," Astoria interjects. "They said you were following in Dumbledore's footsteps."

Harry blushes. "Oh, damn. They actually believed me when I said that."

"Wait, you lied to them? This is rich!" Draco says. "How Potter has fallen!"

"Oh, come off it. I'm sure he had a decent reason to lie. Which was?" Daphne prompts.

"I have absolutely no intention of ever becoming an auror or working for the Ministry," Harry says. "But my friends just wouldn't take no for an answer. When I said I wanted to figure out what I actually liked, they told me I'd always liked fighting and changing the world. Which I never did out of choice—I had to do those things. That wasn't me. So I left. I had to figure out what I wanted to do. And when I figured that out, I came back."

"To be honest, I'm not sure if that's romantic or a pile of codswallop," Astoria says.

Harry laughs. "Me neither? But I mean, the whole story is a bit more complicated and I had some personal reasons for leaving that are private. And it goes beyond career choices. A whole bunch of things fell together, so it ending up being just the path I chose to follow."

"Obviously it's more complicated if it prompted you to lie to your best friends," Daphne says. "I mean, everyone thought you were going to be an auror. That's all you did during school. Fight people, argue. You were so angry all the time."

"I was," Harry says without any further explanation.

"Yeah, you haven't tried to kill me yet!" Draco adds. He's slumped over in his chair now. He's clearly going to have a nasty hangover in the morning.

"Neither have you," Harry says cheerfully, in an attempt to keep up the good mood.

This fails terribly.

"I'm a changed man, Potter!" Draco shouts, slamming his mostly empty cup down. "If you can't understand that, then get out! Don't come in here to my table and start shouting at me about how horrible I was in school! You were too! We all were! I'm not a murderer—"

Draco trails off and Harry is surprised to see he's choking back tears. He slumps into Astoria's shoulder, who wraps her arm around him and begins to rub his arm. She's whispering hurriedly into his ear.

Harry, feeling regretful, raises his hands in a placating manner and says to the drunken Draco. "Hey mate, I'm sorry. Let bygones be bygones."

A sombre mood has fallen over the corner table. Daphne is watching Draco still when Harry asks her quietly, "Is he okay?"

Daphne shakes her head no and says under her breath, "The past two years have been difficult for him. I'm glad Astoria has been here to help him out; I'm not sure what would have happened to him otherwise."

"It's obvious he's changed, you know. The whole time I've been here, he's been courteous and kind—I didn't mean to set him off with that. I was just teasing," Harry says.

"We know," Daphne says. "He'll know too, in the morning when his head is clear. He'll be embarrassed so expect an invitation to a very awkward afternoon tea sometime this week."

Harry winces. "Can't we just skip that part?"

"Afraid not," Daphne says. "It's important to him."

"Whatever's necessary, I suppose."

They turn their attention back to the couple in the booth and watch as Astoria helps Draco stand up. As they're about to leave, Astoria says, "We're going to head home for the evening. It was great to see you, Potter. Let's do this again, sometime? I'll probably see you sometime this week for his apology tea."

"It was good to see you too," Harry says. "Have a good evening."

"Bye, Tori, and g'night, Draco," Daphne says. They watch the two walk out of the notice-me-not shield and back into the now crowded pub atmosphere.

It is quiet for a minute as they both sip on their respective drinks. While Harry is drinking, Daphne smiles and says, "Well, that was cheery. We got off totally off topic—what's this mysterious thing you figured out you wanted to do?"

"No kidding?" Harry says. "But architecture, if you can believe it."

"Architecture? Harry Potter, an architect?" Daphne says sceptically.

"It's true. In fact, you rescued me from that bartender right after I was talking to him about how the construction spells on this place are really going to the dust—speaking of which, I'm staying here tonight and I just do not feel safe sleeping in this place with it like this. Even though I told the guy I wasn't going to fix them, I'm going to drive myself insane if I have to deal with this for a moment longer. If you'll excuse me for a second?"

Daphne nods. Harry then pulls out his Holly wand and quickly runs through several spells that he knows will attach themselves to the four corners of the building and imbue themselves through the foundation and then seep up to the roof overnight. It takes only five or so minutes, but when he turns back he realises that Daphne has been watching him intently.

"Merlin, Potter. You have a talent," Daphne says. "That was incredible."

Harry furrows his brow. "That was nothing, really. The bare minimum. It'll just fix the building for fifty years or so before they fail."

"Fifty years? The bare minimum? Potter—that was brilliant. I don't know about you—but I felt that magic, right?" Daphne says. "The whole building feels better now."

Harry perks up, "Wait—you can feel it too?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure Draco and Tori can too. It's why we like the Leaky Cauldron better than the other places since it feels the best."

"Hold on—this place felt the best? Where else have you been?"

"Everywhere? The Three Broomsticks, the Hog's Head—you name it, we've tried it. This place was the best by just a small margin—but now, it's fantastic."

"But I haven't met anyone else who's been able to really feel the effect the construction spells have on the buildings before that's not been in the business for months. How on earth do all three of you naturally know this—I mean, what are the odds of that?" Harry is flustered.

"I guess right after the trials, we all tried to go out for drinks. All the old crowd. But we kept going to these horribly seedy places down Knockturn. They were the only ones that would serve a large group of old Slytherins, anyways. But they just felt... unstable—like that feeling you get when you're walking on really thin ice? It's—"

"Crumbly?" Harry offers.

"Yes! Crumbly. That's a perfect word for it. Anyways, I mentioned this to Astoria, who agreed. We tried explaining it to a couple other people but no one else seemed to understand, except Draco, who said he felt it too," Daphne explains. "So every new place we would try, we all would stick with each other and if the place felt too crumbly, we'd leave. Eventually, we stopped going with everyone else because everything in Knockturn was crumbly. So we tried the more respected pubs—the Three Broomsticks, the Hog's Head, and here. This one was the best. We've been coming here since early '99."

Harry leans back, thoroughly impressed. "I really can't believe I just happened to stumble upon some of the people that can feel the difference a well-cast architectural spell can make randomly. This is absurdly coincidental."

Daphne shrugs. "Meant to be, I guess."

"I wonder—do you want to try a test for me? I want to know if you can feel the difference in spells in some of these different places," Harry asks. "They're made with different types of magic, and no one has been able to tell the difference. Not even my teacher could."

"I bet we can," Daphne says. "We're excellent."

"Would tomorrow be too outrageous? I want to check out the place tonight, to make sure that my idea of the building is right, and then we can try it out sometime tomorrow?" Harry asks.

Daphne shrugs. "I've got nothing better planned."

Harry grins. "Alright then. I'll owl you a time. If I'm wrong, I'll owl anyways."

Daphne nods as she stands up and preps to leave. "I'll see you then, Potter."

"Call me Harry," he says, extending his hand.

"Call me Daphne," she responds, shaking it.

After they leave the pub, Harry apparates to Hogsmeade. He can't enter the castle grounds since school is currently in session, but as soon as he nears the gate he realises that his theory was correct—Hogwarts was built with the longevity magic. He tried to study their shape, but only managed to give himself a deep headache. Whatever the spells were, he would likely never be able to find out from any books.

He had searched the vast libraries in several countries over the weekends when he was working with Ahmed in Haryana, but none of those searches had returned any results on the longevity spell. He doubts Hogwarts would have any results. He decides to submit an anonymous request under Advait on if he can search the library on any and all construction spells. He suspects that Madam Pince would not allow someone foreign to search her shelves and would first conduct a preliminary examination. He anticipates this will be fruitless, but he has to try.

It is growing late at night, so Harry returns to the now reinforced Leaky Cauldron for the night, where he eagerly anticipates the upcoming test.

His owl the next morning requests their presence in Hogsmeade at around 2 o'clock that afternoon at the Three Broomsticks (which Harry repairs before their appearance). When Draco, Astoria, and Daphne show up and enter the pub, their eyes widen only slightly—Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been looking previously—and they make their way over to his table.

"You fixed this building too!" Daphne says.

"Is that what you did?" Astoria says. "Daphne says you did something similar at the Leaky Cauldron. You're going to be an architect?"

Draco nods, looking only slightly miserable. "Yeah, the building's nice. What on earth are we doing out here? You trying to show off?"

Harry laughs. "No, I'm not showing off."

Daphne nods, "I'm pretty sure you'd know if he was. He was shocked last night when I was so surprised by his 'bare minimum' spells."

Harry cringes. "Sorry—I just hate being in buildings that have poor spellwork. Anyways, I thought asking you to meet me in the middle of a field was a little weird. But I invited you out here because Daphne told me you're all able to feel architectural spells. I want to know if you can feel a certain type of them that I haven't been able to find anyone else who can."

"Well, show us the way!" Astoria says. "I'm down for weird adventures!"

Draco hesitates before shrugging. "As long as this doesn't involve anything like your old school adventures, Potter, I'm fine."

"Nothing like that, I promise," Harry says.

Harry leads the three out of the pub, out of Hogsmeade, and up to a grassy knoll that overlooks Hogwarts. It's a spot Harry found last night where he was able to feel the longevity spells very strongly. He didn't realise it last night, but the view is fairly spectacular.

"Wow," Daphne says. "This is really something else."

"Really?" Harry says, getting excited.

"Really, what? I'm talking about the view," Daphne says, gesturing to the grounds that lay in the distance in front of her. "Look at that—you can see practically all of Hogwarts from here."

Astoria nods. "It's gorgeous."

Draco agrees, but is the first to turn away from the view and look at Harry. "Okay, what are we supposed to be feeling here?"

"There's a certain class of spell that was used to build Hogwarts and a lot of other significant buildings around the world. It doesn't feel like the normal construction spells, and you can feel it a long way off. It's actually really strong right here; I'm guessing the way the magic was cast that somehow it ended up including this location. I'm thinking that this spot may have been part of the original Hogwarts boundaries," Harry explains.

The three concentrate. Harry watches, and feels slightly discouraged because the fact that they have to concentrate on something that seems so obvious to him does not appear promising. But, Harry has to remind himself, he has had training in construction magic. He has been studying this for a long time.

Astoria is the first to break the silence. "I'm sorry. I don't feel any magic here. It's a beautiful spot though. I can understand why the Founders might have wanted to include it in the grounds."

Harry shrugs from his spot leaning against a tree. "It was worth a try." He pats the ground next to him. Astoria moves from where she was standing to sit next to him. They talk quietly with each other about magic, starting businesses, and Harry receives a standing invitation to join them weekly at the Leaky Cauldron for drinks. "I like you," Astoria explains. "I think we could be good friends."

Daphne sits down next to them next. "I'm sorry, Harry. I tried to sense something, but all I managed to feel was dizzy."

Harry shrugs again. "It's not a problem."

Astoria explains the standing invitation she has offered Harry and Daphne agrees that it's a good idea. Her single caveat: "Maybe hold off telling Draco though, until you've had that apology tea."

Draco finally joins the group at the base of the tree. He frowns. "I'm not sure. I think I was trying so hard to feel it that I might have just made it all up. I really don't think I had it."

Harry shrugs a third time. "It's alright. I assumed that no one really would be able to really feel it when you all showed up here and didn't understand what I was talking about right away."

"Well, what does it feel like to you then?" Astoria asks.

"Overwhelming? The first time I felt it, I thought it was a notice-me-not that was overpowered since it just completely blankets buildings. In a good way, I suppose. But it's a dense sort of magic. It feels like you're walking through a really humid space here, because the magic is just so thick. It's almost as if after the magic decides you're not a threat, the humidity lifts and instead of feeling so heavy, it feels safe."

"So it's... good?" Astoria clarifies.

"Yes, it's good. It's a good magic. But no one knows how to cast it. No one anywhere knows how to cast it. No books, the spells are indecipherable when you study them. And no one really can sense them, except for me, I guess. But it explains why some parts of buildings are still standing today, and others aren't."

"Like what buildings?" Draco asks.

"Hogwarts, for one. It's been through a lot, and it's incredibly old. But I don't think anyone has ever had to do renovations on the building until the summer of '98 because of the war. The pyramids in Egypt—those are over two thousand years old. They're still standing and some are in great shape, while others aren't. It's because of this magic. Some mosques in Mali have this magic, some Incan ruins in Mexico have this magic, the Taj Mahal has it, the Great Wall of China has it in some places; so many places have it and they're all well-known non-magical treasures."

Daphne looks at Harry for a second and then says, "You weren't kidding when you said you went on a world tour."

"Well, I got interested in ruins and ancient civilizations when I first stopped in Egypt and Mexico, and I wondered how they built things when I was in Guatemala—" Harry starts.

"Which then spurred a multi-continental tour of architecture?" Daphne finishes. "No wonder you want to be an architect. This has been driving you for the past two years."

"I guess so? I mean, it wasn't just architecture. There were other things too," Harry says.

"It was basically architecture, we get it," Draco says. "You don't have to make up things."

"But it wasn't!" Harry says. "I spent almost a year in India alone!"

"What did you do there?" Astoria asks.

"Well—I mean, I did work for a construction company—" Harry says, making his three companions laugh. "—but I also learned Hindi and the culture and made good friends there. It's a second home, now."

"You speak Hindi now?" Daphne asks.

"Yeah, I'm fluent," Harry says. "When I went to the World Cup last year, I got kidnapped by some Ministry officials and escaped by hiding with the Indian fans; no one suspected it was me when I used my second name and only spoke Hindi for the rest of the time. I'm so glad I learned."

"Hold on a second—you hid from the Ministry of Magic by speaking Hindi and using a fake name? At the World Cup?" Draco asks, almost giddy.

"Yeah?" Harry says.

"That is amazing," Draco says. "Never in a million years would I have expected that level of devotion to your cover. Learning a whole new language—I'm impressed."

"I didn't learn the language to hide," Harry corrects. "I learned the language because my dad was Indian and I was never able to learn what he would have spoken as a kid. I learned it to understand where I came from as a person."

"I think that's admirable," Astoria says. "And the fact that you can use it as a disguise is great."

"I think so too," Daphne is quick to agree. "And that you spent all that time to learn more about your family's history is really incredible. I'd never have expected it from you before."

"Well, a lot changed for me after the war," Harry says. "And I changed because of it."

"I think that's true for all of us," Astoria says, looking at each of them in turn. "Good luck with your magic, Harry. Let us know how starting the business goes."

"Build me a house, Harry. I hate my flat," Daphne says as she leaves.

Harry is left alone on the grassy knoll after the three depart and return to their daily routines. He realises that building houses is a great first step.

But first, he has a mission and it is to solve this puzzle. This longevity spell will not outwit him.

Harry purchases a fairly large plot of land on the shores of Loch Awe—he's somehow able to convince the local municipality that he should be allowed to buy this ridiculously large amount of shoreland.

But when he is there, he clears a small plot of land so that there is enough space for a small cottage. He then proceeds to build the foundation of what will end up being his own home, like Ahmed had taught him back in Haryana.

But before he moves on and begins the framing of the house, though, he is determined to try every variation of every spell he has ever known to discover the secret of the longevity magic.

Over several weeks—maybe two months? He's not sure—he tries and fails miserably. He ignores every owl that comes his way. He ignores, what he presumes, are the numerous invitations to Draco's apology tea, which he is refusing to go to on principle that it is a ridiculous idea. He ends up, one evening, saying random phrases in Latin and waving his wand carelessly. He comes upon the idea that since this longevity magic seemed to calm once it 'recognised' you, for lack of a better word, that working with the concept of life and being alive would be a decent direction.

He comes upon the solution entirely by accident.

The variation of his so-called spells varies dramatically. Some seem like decent ideas—for instance, because the architecture felt alive: "Ego veni ut vitam dic lapidi." I have come to life in stone.

But that wasn't quite correct—Harry didn't come to life in the stone. Another attempt: "Spiro vitam in stone." I breathe life into stone.

Or because Hogwarts felt almost sentient: "Ad haec forma lapis in animam viventem." To this the form of the stone sunk into a living soul. Harry isn't sure where he is going with that idea.

He tries again. To give the building an eternal form: "Hoc aedificium in perpetuum." The building forever.

Perhaps something more direct: "Semper lapis, semper solidum." Always stone, always solid.

Others aren't good ideas. With exasperation: "Quia caritas Dei, ut ea tantum sentire, sensi alia aedificia." Oh, for the love of God, just feel like those other buildings I felt.

That one does not work.

He has been practicing the spells for so long that the sun has started to set.

The sun flashes off of a puddle in the distance, which reflects directly into Harry's eye, making him sneeze. While he sneezes, he stumbles, falls to the ground, and scratches his hand upon the stone he is casting. He rises to his feet in annoyance, realises he has cut his hand, is too irritated to heal himself, and tries the spell one last time.

"Lapis Structura in animo est, vivens!" The stone structure is intended as a living thing, Harry says.

And then—it works. The combination of Harry's blood on the stone, the soil, and the wand—and, finally, the right combination of words.

Like magic – it is magic, Harry reminds himself – the feeling of the breathing and sempiternal construction is evident and powerful. More powerful than any of the other buildings he has witnessed. Likely because this is a new spell. The newest spell that has been done of its calibre, Harry acknowledges. The magic is dense, it is the same—and Harry is thrilled. He has finally done it. Three weeks—a month? He has no idea what the date is, how much time has passed. He has gone completely underground while he was working on discovery this spell.

But he has figured it out. Harry analyses the spell, and finds that it has attached itself to only the part of the foundation he has been casting it on. He tries again. He spills some blood—and then he hurries to write down the words he spoke and when he does, he discovers blood has gotten all over the parchment, but he doesn't even care. Afterwards, he smears his blood over several stones and then says the spell again.

"Lapis structura in animo est, vivens!"

And there it is—that swollen magic fills the air and it combines with the originally cast magic and Harry is so excited that he dances and looks around for someone to celebrate with and finds no one there.

He remembers the standing invite to the Greengrass's pub night; he needs to check the date, and then he can tell them his success. When he does discover the date, he comes to the irritating realisation that their pub night was last night. He has to wait a whole week.

Harry pushes off this annoyance and decides that by the time he sees them again, he will have finished his home. This is an ambitious goal. With Ahmed, it took them at least three weeks to finish a home, but that was before Ahmed made Harry cast every spell and that was when they had to check with the owners about every single design element—this time, it's just Harry.

So the week passes and the framing goes up and then the drywall goes up and the insulation is put in place and with every part, Harry casts his new spell—he's calling it the Living Stone spell and he's thinking about company names and since he's hardly creative he's decided on Living Stone Architecture. This makes Harry excited, so he works harder. When he's not working, he's jumping through the hoops and then Harry is forced to sign his name on official forms as the business owner and he hesitates for only a second before signing them as Advait Bajwa. He doesn't want his company to become popular because it is Harry Potter's company. He wants it to be popular because it is a good company, because it is the best company.

But pub night is approaching, and the house is undergoing finishing touches. Harry is exhausted, but decides that instead of going to the Leaky Cauldron—they should all come to his house. Because then he won't have to justify his absences because he is the proof himself.

He owls them all and invites them for drinks at his new home. His letter is unintentionally vague.

Drinks at my place instead of at Leaky Cauldron? Floo: Advait's Home. Cheers! HP

His new floo address is Advait's Home (heaven forbid people think this is actually Harry Potter's house). He's excessively proud of this, and so in response he buys several wines and beers and goes overboard and then he makes many appetizers in his new kitchen and then he eventually gives out because he has made altogether too much food and has too much alcohol for only three visitors who hardly had time to RSVP because the invitation was only sent out the morning of Harry's decision to host it.

Harry realised this and so is quietly panicking that no one will show up when the floo flares—and out steps Daphne Greengrass.

"Hi," Harry says, awkwardly.

"Hi," Daphne replies. "Where have you been? You haven't responded to any of our letters."

"I've been here, actually," Harry says.

The floo lights up again. Out spills Astoria. Harry is pleased to see that she is also a poor floo-er; it's not just Harry who is so dreadful at that mode of transportation. Astoria brushes off ash and then stands up with the help of her sister and then looks around.

"Oh, wow! This place looks great! Is it really yours? Your letter was really vague," Astoria says.

"Yeah, it's mine," Harry says proudly.

And the floo flashes a third time: out walks Draco Malfoy who is looking better than Harry has ever seen him. "Hello, Potter," he says.

"You do know you can call me Harry, right?" Harry says after offering to take everyone's coat. It must be November, Harry thinks—he was definitely absent for far longer than he anticipated.

Draco shrugs. "Yeah, but old habits are hard to break. By the way, what the hell are these spells here? They're so weird."

"What spells?" Astoria asks.

"Yeah, I don't feel anything. Are you trying to prank Draco, Harry?" Daphne says.

Harry turns from the coat closet and smiles so broadly his face hurts. "You can feel them?"

"Well, you've done something strange with the place. It's not bad—but it's not normal," Draco says.

"They're the longevity spells," Harry says. "I figured them out! That's why I've been AWOL for so long—I've been here, trying to discover them and I did!"

Daphne is surprised. "Congrats, Harry! That's great."

Astoria adds her congratulations. "It's a house-warming party! We should've brought gifts!"

Harry shakes his head. "No gifts necessary."

Draco is still looking around carefully. "Well, then maybe I actually was feeling something at the hilltop you brought us too. But why can I feel this stuff here and not over there? It doesn't make sense."

Harry tells everyone to follow him to the kitchen where there's chairs and explains, "These spells are brand new. The ones at Hogwarts are over a thousand years old—they're still pretty powerful but they're less in-your-face, I guess. You'll get used to them pretty quick. It is a little disorienting at first though, I'm sorry I didn't warn you about it—I totally wasn't expecting this but it's fantastic."

"The weird feeling is going away slowly," Draco says. "That's really impressive. You came up with that all on your own? How long did that take you? And where did you find this house? Where is it, actually?"

"Give us a tour!" Astoria says.

Harry offers them their choice of drink and lets them pick over his excessive food options. Daphne laughs at Harry when he explains that he was anxious so he cooked all day.

When they all have eaten a bit and chosen a drink, Harry leads them on a tour. He takes them from the kitchen into the dining room, from there into the sitting room, then the living room. A small office and half bath finish the ground floor; the first-floor features two guest bedrooms and a master suite. The entire time, they entertain him with their dramatic sounds of appreciation.

"But the best part," Harry says, "is the view."

He takes them outside and then they all stand there and look at the lake, the trees, and the mountains in the distance.

"So, where are we? Scotland, right?" Daphne asks.

"Yes," Harry confirms. "This is Loch Awe. I've a ridiculous amount of land on this shore, and quite a bit that spreads up the hillside behind us. About 10 kilometres? I'm planning on keeping a large part of it private but some of it for development; maybe establish a wizarding community, you know."

"That would be brilliant," Astoria says. "I know a lot of people who are tired of living in London, or in the cities. Not many wizarding communities are outside the major cities anymore. How much would one of your homes be?"

"I'd guess 61 or 60 thousand Galleons?" Harry says. "That's what a comparable non-magical home costs in these regions."

Draco whistles. "That's a steal, Potter. You could be charging at the bare minimum 300,000 Galleons for this—this spellwork alone—it's priceless."

"It's true. You'll be totally undercharging your homes if you use that as a starting point," Daphne adds.

"But I want these to be affordable," Harry says. "I don't want them to be exclusive to only wealthy individuals."

Draco shakes his head. "They won't be—you've been gone a long time, Potter. There's been a lot of inflation. The Galleon has gone down—it's about 2:1 instead of 5:1 to the British Pound. Someone thought it would be a good idea to just make more Galleons when the economy wasn't doing very well after the war."

"Hasn't anyone paid any attention to non-magical history?" Harry asks. "The exact same thing happened in Germany in the early 1900s. It's called hyperinflation. They printed more money to pay off their debts but that didn't work."

Daphne shrugs. "Clearly no one who decided it was a good idea."

Harry sighs. "So about 150 thousand would be comparable to non-magical houses, then? You want me to charge double that?"

Astoria, Daphne, and Draco all nod.

"Your product is worth so much more," Daphne says, "because of your longevity spells and the quality of construction. No one will ever have structural issues in one of your houses, and so the price ought to reflect that."

"What did you end up naming the spell?" Astoria asks.

"That's not important, Tori," Daphne says.

"I'm curious!" Astoria says.

"It's the Living Stone spell," Harry offers. "Trade secret, I'm afraid. My company, Living Stone Architecture, is open for business by the way. I take commissions," he jokes.

Draco looks at Harry until Harry makes eye contact with him. "I want to commission a house," he says to Harry's surprise. "I'll pay you 400,000 Galleons for one exactly like this one—except have Astoria style it, your style is atrocious."

"Hey!"

"I'm teasing—but I want it on this stretch of land. Lakeview. Far away from you, though. Merlin—I'm seeing far too much of you as it is and I'm still not totally okay with that. By the way, you are coming to my house tomorrow for my apology tea and I don't care if you think it's stupid. It is how things are done," Draco says. Harry nods.

"I want it done before May. That's when our wedding is. I want you to not hide yourself away like you have these past two months. That's not healthy. I don't care if you use your alter-ego name when you go out in public to avoid the mobs, but you're not going to hide away anymore. You're a decent person, Potter. You deserve to see sunlight. People like you. Astoria likes you, Daphne likes you, and Merlin forbid, even I might even tolerate you but I can't decide anything until after the apology tea tomorrow that you are coming to. Are we clear?"

"As crystal," Harry says restraining a smile.

Draco nods definitively. "Good."

Astoria looks at Draco. "Did you just buy a house in front of me? That we are both living in? Without consulting me?" she asks sharply.

"Oh, shite. Is that a problem?" Draco asks.

Astoria grins. "It's fine."

Draco relaxes. "You have to stop doing that to me."

The next day, Harry is summoned by Draco himself to attend his apology tea.

"I figured you wouldn't show up unless I dragged you to it," Draco explains as he pulls Harry through the floo. He lands in an entry way that clearly has been decorated by someone with a fondness for the colour orange.

"I like the paint," Harry says.

"Oh, shut up. You don't. Tori and I were arguing about paint choices, completely disagreed, and then we decided that no one should be happy so we made it orange," Draco explains as he guides Harry to a sitting room that looks much more respectable.

"Why did you decide on orange?" Harry asks.

"Neither of us like it or look particularly good in it. We also wanted to shock Astoria's parents when they visited for the first time. We pretended to love the room and spent far too long gushing over the orange furniture. Astoria's father just gaped at us like we were lunatics on drugs," Draco says. "They were very relieved when we showed them the rest of the flat."

Harry laughs. "Is that why you want Astoria to decorate the place? No more orange parlours?"

Draco tilts his head in a so-so manner. "Partially. It also just makes her happy, which I'm all for. Wedding planning is frankly horrible, so if this can take her mind off of it, the better. Decoration is her favourite. Seating arrangements and deciding who would be insulted the least if we didn't invite them to the wedding is not."

"I can't imagine doing that," Harry says. He picks up the cup of tea Draco offers. He notices that Draco's cup has the words "I'm Sorry" written on the bottom. He holds back a guffaw and turns it into a single cough.

"Personally, I think we shouldn't invite anyone except for people we actually like, but weddings aren't for the people getting married. They're for everyone else," Draco says.

"It doesn't make a lot of sense," Harry agrees.

"What about Indian weddings? Are you planning on having one?" Draco asks.

"To be honest, I wouldn't mind one way or another. I figure whatever makes my partner happy would make me happy," Harry says. "I've no real attachment to Indian weddings. I only attended one when I was in India and I didn't speak Hindi well enough then to really appreciate what was going on."

"Well, now that you know Hindi you can go to one again and re-evaluate? One of the Patil girls is getting married—the Gryffindor one," Draco says. "You're probably invited."

Harry shakes his head. "No invitation, so probably not."

Draco looks confused. "But you were in her house. Why wouldn't she invite you?"

Harry doesn't know. "I wasn't really close with many people. I wasn't exactly the most pleasant person to be around during school?"

"Oh, really?" Draco says, "I find that hard to believe. You had a whole posse of friends who were deathly loyal to you. Where are they now?"

Harry sighs heavily. "Yeah, to be honest, I'm not sure. Everyone wanted something from me, and I just didn't have anything left to give, I guess. I was tired of that."

Draco nods. "I wasn't really the most pleasant person either."

"But you had reason to be—"

"And you didn't?" Draco interrupts. "We both had a whole lot of reasons to be unhappy, but that doesn't really justify how cruel we were to one another."

"It was a long time ago, and I know you changed—"

"Please, let me finish. I need to say this," Draco says earnestly. "I am sorry, Harry. I am sorry for what I did to you in school. I mean, my dad was a Death Eater, and my family was being threatened. Lord Voldemort lived in my house—I was miserable, scared, and honestly, I could have reached out for help. But I was scared and I didn't—but that doesn't justify my behaviour and I am sorry. I am sorry for the pain and the deaths I have caused."

"I had Lord Voldemort living in my head," Harry says quietly after a moment of silence.

Draco is taken aback. "What?"

"A piece of his soul lived in my head," Harry repeats. "He lived there, and he made me angry and tired, and I lashed out and I fought everything and I refused to accept other people's opinions and I refused to believe that anyone other than myself could be right. But the fact that a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul lived in me doesn't justify my behaviour—so I am sorry. I am sorry for almost killing you, for causing you harm and pain, and anything else I may have done to you over the years."

"Merlin—Harry, you can't be blamed for that—that was completely out of your control—"

"And what happened to you wasn't? You didn't choose to have an evil man live in your house! You didn't choose to have your family be threatened! You didn't choose to have your father pressure you to become something you were scared to become!" Harry says. "It does justify your behaviour. Yes, what you did was wrong. It was wrong, and it did cause pain and suffering, but you were just a kid. You were a kid and the people you were supposed to be able to trust let you down. You did the best you could with what you had—and when you had a chance to break free of that influence, you became someone you can be proud of."

Draco shakes his head. "No, no, no—I did choose to be a Death Eater. That wasn't something I could be forced to do—"

"But what was the alternative? Death? If faced with that sort of choice, I think most people would have done what you did," Harry says.

Draco sits there for a long while. "What I did in school is not who I am, and I know that now. But I want you to know I deeply regret all of the decisions I made, despite the fact that they were made under the heavy influence of outside forces."

"I forgive you. I hope you can forgive yourself," Harry says. "And I hope you can forgive me."

"What the hell are you talking about—you were possessed most all of school? How on earth did you even defeat the guy?" Draco asks incredulously.

"No, no, no," Harry says quickly. "I wasn't possessed. It's complicated—dark magic, I really shouldn't have mentioned it, but I did—but, uh—I guess, the simplest way to describe this is that when he cast the killing curse at me when I was a child and it rebounded was that it shattered Voldemort into two pieces? And that one of those pieces attached itself to the nearest living thing, which was me. But I was strong enough to suppress that piece of him. Not strong enough, though, to completely prevent attributes of Voldemort's from seeping through—like the aggression, the parseltongue, the anger; how I liked fighting, how I was always overreacting to little things and never believed anyone else could be right. None of that was me—"

"So when you said that you left for personal reasons and that you wanted to figure out what you liked—it's because you honestly had no idea?" Draco asks.

"I'm honestly surprised you remembered," Harry says.

Draco shrugs. "I made Astoria recount the entire evening the next day to make sure I wasn't going crazy."

"I mean, yeah. After Voldemort died completely—and through other weird circumstances—the piece of him that was in me—he was in the scar, if you wanted to know—my whole personality changed and—I really had no idea what I wanted to do. I just knew I didn't want to fight anymore."

"So then what explains this ridiculous height you have now? You were always short," Draco asks.

"Magic? I guess I used up a lot of my magic to block out that piece of Voldemort, and so when it was removed it was able to fix up a lot of me that wasn't really right—like my height. I guess my body figured preventing Dark Lord possession was more important than height? So when it was gone, about six or so months later I went through a massive growth spurt. And ever since then I've been able to notice magic a lot more easily," Harry says.

"Just how powerful are you? Who on earth holds off possession for what—sixteen years? —and still is a powerful wizard?" Draco asks.

"Some random witch in Egypt told me I could compare myself to any great wizard in history and I'd probably measure up to them," Harry says dismissively. "I think she was a little crazy though."

"She says any great wizard in history?" Draco double checks. Harry nods.

"Merlin—Harry—you could be as powerful as Merlin and could measure up. That's what she's talking about. She's not just referring to the boring wizards—she's saying the great wizards," Draco says.

Harry looks sceptical. "I think we've gotten a bit off topic. I was trying to apologise."

"Oh, well I'd forgiven you for that a while ago. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered to invite you to apology tea," Draco says. "This is far more important. You're as powerful as Merlin."

Harry winces. "Please don't go telling people."

"I'm telling Astoria, who's going to tell Daphne. That's all," Draco says. "You are now going to be my friend so I can tell people when you die that I was friends with the second-coming of Merlin."

"Oh my God, please tell me you're joking," Harry says.

"Not a single bit," Draco says. His demeanour has completely changed since he decided they would be friends. He's relaxed his posture and has a more open stance in his chair. "I've changed too—I've decided I spent far too long caring about what people thought about me and I'm over trying to filter out the stupid things I say unless they're racist and even then, sometimes I fuck things up—please tell me if I'm being racist I'm trying very hard not to be. It's hard when your parents were racist arseholes who never worked a day in their lives—sometimes I slip up, you know?"

"You were never racist during school," Harry says. "I was Indian the entire time."

"Oh, but you were too easy to make fun of in other ways," Draco smiles. "You were the boy-who-lived—I mean, come on, who came up with that?"

"I feel the same way," Harry drawls. "Please, don't remind me."

"I'll try to restrain," Draco says.

This is how Draco and Harry reconciled their differences. Draco decided that Harry would be his friend, and Harry was too kind to tell Draco that this was not how you usually made friends, but he figured that Draco actually was nice now. His apology had been sincere, and he wasn't trying to make excuses. Harry did tell him that he had excuses, but Draco refused to accept that.

And then Harry surprised himself by telling him about the horcrux—without so many words, of course, but he feels lighter now, after knowing someone actually understands the whole picture. He never would have believed it would be these three people, but in a way, it fits. They are the three Slytherin outcasts, who did not feel comfortable with the rest of the Slytherins after the war. And he is the Gryffindor outcast, who did not feel comfortable with the rest of the Gryffindors after the war.

Together, they make a pleasant group of friends.

Astoria and Draco plan to be married in May of 2001. During the months beforehand, Harry works with Astoria to finish their cottage. It is larger than his own; the furnishings and fixtures are nicer than his own, but it is delightfully understated. Harry is there when Astoria and Draco bring Astoria's parents to the construction site. He meets them, and finds they are kind but strict parents who were lucky enough to have stayed neutral during the conflict. Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass like Harry, and invite him over for dinner. He accepts the invitation. Draco and Astoria make fun of him for being a suck-up.

As their wedding date drew closer, Harry found himself spending far more time with Daphne than the couple. He enjoyed spending time with her and they found they had a similar sense of humour. She was bright, funny, and knowledgeable enough to actually enjoy listening to Harry ramble on about the latest issues with his other clients at Living Stone Architecture. Daphne rescues Harry from attending the dinner with the Greengrass parents alone.

The business is slowly gaining traction. He's building several houses for individuals. He introduces himself to the owners as Advait Bajwa and speaks with an Indian accent. This prevents them from confusing him with Harry Potter. Eventually, though, Harry feels he will have to start taking more serious measures to protect his privacy.

However, Harry is thoroughly surprised when Draco asks him in February to be his best man; he agrees but admits he didn't expect this. Draco is somewhat abashed but says that Harry is basically his only friend—other than the girls.

"It'll be a small bridal party," Draco says. "Astoria says didn't want to decide on which of her friends to offend by not inviting, so she chose to only have Daphne as a bridesmaid, but honestly, it's because I don't have anyone else I'd want there with me."

Harry is flattered. "Well—shite, I have a lot to do. Do you know what you're wearing yet? Anyone you want at a stag do?"

Draco considers this. "Honestly, I've no clue what we're wearing. I'd talk to Astoria. And for the stag do? I guess I can think about that and let you know."

"Oh, shite, this means I have to give a speech, huh?" Harry says.

Draco grins. "As Harry Potter. Sorry!"

Harry goes to meet with Astoria a few days later to talk about what they'll be wearing. Astoria looks flustered when Harry shows up at her apartment, but when Harry asks about the grooms wear, her stress quickly turns to relief. "Draco finally asked you? Thank Merlin—here, I need you to decide. He's being completely ambivalent and all I need is someone with opinions. Wizard-wear, or Muggle-wear? I'm leaning Muggle-styles—I've always wanted to wear one of their white wedding dresses."

"I like suits more than dress robes," Harry offers.

"That's decided," Astoria grabs a list off of their kitchen table that is completely covered in papers, magazines, and colour swatches, and crosses something off. "Grey or Black?"

She shows him two different fabric swatches. They look nearly identical. Luckily, she fluttered the swatch that matched each colour so he knows which goes with which.

Knowing Astoria needs opinions and not someone who doesn't give a damn (which, unfortunately, includes him), he points at one at random, "The grey."

"Tuxedo or suit?" Astoria asks.

"Tuxedo?" Harry says. The two pictures he was shown look very similar, except one has a bowtie instead. He hasn't worn a bowtie before.

"Tie colour—tell me what you think," Astoria says. She lays out several different paint swatches and Harry picks one at random.

"Perfect! Wow, that is absolutely perfect. You're brilliant. I don't know why you say you have no fashion sense. You've literally just saved my wedding. Okay, now go give Draco this list," she pushes a piece of paper into his hands. "And he'll know what to do. You go with him. We're paying. Now go away, I'm swamped."

Harry is dismissed and so he goes back to Draco. The note, apparently, is a reprimand and a command to go get fitted for the grooms wear Harry randomly selected.

When Draco is actually pleased with the result, Harry feels proud in his choices, despite it all being completely arbitrary. Draco announces that Harry is "brill" and that he's decided that instead of a stag do they're going to get completely drunk a week in advance, just the two of them, so that they won't get into trouble and that any hangovers will be long gone by the time of the wedding. Harry's relieved this requires little work from him. He offers to host the night at his house. Draco is quick to agree, noting that he would have showed up there anyways.

Soon, it is May, and the day of wedding. Harry never ended up seeing the final guest list, but he knows it is large. This is the first time since 1998 that Harry Potter will be seen in public in the United Kingdom. He's dreadfully nervous—though Draco certainly has him beat for nerves. He's practically shaking on the morning of, and Harry has to talk Draco out of running by describing how embarrassing it would be for him to have to explain to everyone that Draco left. Draco admits this would be humiliating, and that Harry would likely do a horrible job of it, so he builds up his courage, and then the wedding starts.

Harry did not anticipate the sheer size of the crowd. When he accompanies Draco to the altar through the side door, he is impressed with the size of the church, and its decorations are subtle but he cannot deny Astoria has done a wonderful job.

Mrs. Greengrass arrives, followed by the officiant, and then the music starts. Then Astoria and her father make her way down the aisle. She looks stunning. Harry has no idea what kind of dress she is wearing, except for the fact that it makes her look beautiful. She is followed by Daphne.

When Astoria reaches the altar, Daphne takes her bouquet; Draco takes his place by her side, and Harry smiles at the two sisters. They are stunning. Draco is beaming—any nerves he might have had are completely gone.

The officiant speaks for a while; Harry doesn't pay attention. He can feel the ring box burning a hole in his pant pocket but he watches the expressions of love on Astoria and Draco's faces as they continue to look at each other, ignoring everything else.

Astoria's father gives her away to Draco. They share their vows, and then Harry hands the wedding bands to the officiant. He takes his seat, as does Astoria's father.

The rings are exchanged, their marriage is blessed; they hold each other hands and a spell is cast that is a more of a wish than any real magic for happiness in the years to come.

Astoria and Draco sign a registrar, as do Astoria's parents. Harry and Daphne sign as well as their witnesses. Astoria has her bouquet returned, and then the newly-weds exit the church. Harry offers his arm to Daphne, and they follow their exit.

They're sharing a carriage—and inside of the expanded space, Astoria and Draco are kissing amorously.

"Ah! We have to be in here too!" Daphne shrieks, covering her eyes. "My eyes!"

Astoria bursts into giggles, "Oh boohoo—it's my wedding day. I'll kiss my husband as much as I like."

Harry goes to shake Draco's hand but he's pulled into a hug. "Thank you," Draco whispers into his ear.

"Congrats," Harry smiles. "Thank you from saving me from complete embarrassment."

"What embarrassment would you be facing today?" Daphne asks.

"If Draco didn't show up, I'd have to explain to everyone what happened," Harry says.

"And he would do a horrible job!" Draco crows. "I had to save him the embarrassment."

"Oh, and I had nothing to do with it?" Astoria prods Draco's stomach.

"Completely nothing," Draco says sarcastically, grabbing her hand.

They chat until they arrive at the reception, when they all make their way to form the reception line. "This is my least favourite part," Daphne admits before the guests arrive.

Harry raises an eyebrow. "You're telling me? I can only imagine what this will be like."

"Well, I don't think anyone really recognised you in the church," Astoria says. "This is going to be entertaining."

Harry groans, but Draco smiles broadly. "This time, you get to embarrass yourself and it's all your fault!"

"I prepared for the speech, at least," Harry says.

"Sure, you did," Daphne says, rolling her eyes.

To their relief, the reception line is mostly full of the Greengrass parent's friends, who are fond of the tradition. Most of the younger individuals seemed to skip the line and head to the drinks—which suits Harry fine.

None of the adults seem to pay Harry any attention, but instead lavish their adulations upon Astoria and Draco. Daphne and Harry are politely greeted, and then promptly ignored. They pass the time talking quietly.

Before long, it is time for the meal—and the moment Harry has undoubtedly been dreading. His speech goes last; so he sits and waits for his turn.

Astoria's father speaks first.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming today, to celebrate the marriage of my beautiful daughter to this decent young man. Isn't she beautiful today? Astoria, I've never been prouder to be your father. I don't think this marriage has come as any surprise to your mother and me. You were five-years-old when you met Draco for the first time, and when you and your sister came back home, the first thing you said was that you were going to marry him one day," he says to the laughter of everyone. Astoria blushes. "And to be frank, I'm not at all shocked to find out that you did. Draco is a great young man, and I am happy to welcome you into the Greengrass family. You have grown up admirably and I am proud to call you my son-in-law."

The crowd applauds. Draco smiles and mouths a thank you. "I'd like to propose a toast," her father continues. "To the happy couple!"

Draco stands up next and gives Astoria's father a hug. "Thank you. I'm so lucky to have gained such a wonderful family today. First, I'd like to thank everyone for coming, and for your kind gifts. We really appreciate the time you have taken out of your busy lives to come celebrate with us."

Daphne leans over to whisper in Harry's ear, "That is such a lie." Harry bites back a laugh.

"I want to thank the Greengrass's—Talia and Lane—for their generosity in hosting this lovely reception, and my parents, for not showing up," Draco says brightly, although his last phrase meets a shocked response from the crowd. Astoria's laughter comes out more as a cough due to her attempts to cover it up.

"Sheesh, tough crowd," Draco says. "Thanks, Tori, for laughing. You always appreciated my horrible sense of humour. She looks stunning today, don't we all agree?"

The crowd applauds their agreement. "I'd also like to say that Daphne, the maid of honour, is also looking lovely. And Harry, my best man—he's managed to fix his hair for once. Thank you, I couldn't suffer the embarrassment if it looked like it normally did. A toast for the lovely bridal party! Without them, we'd have gone insane!"

They raise their glasses amid the whispers that had risen when Draco mentioned his name.

"Lastly, I want to raise a toast to my new in-laws. Thank you for being so supportive of our marriage. To many happy future years as family!"

They all drink, and then it is Harry's turn. Daphne whispers, "Good luck!"

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. If you haven't recognised me, I'm Harry Potter, and I'm Draco's best man. I'd first like to issue a huge thank you to Tori's parents for their wonderful job setting this party up. Can we just have a huge round of applause for Astoria? Doesn't she just look absolutely breath-taking?

"I'd also like to thank everyone that's been working hard making sure that everything has been running smoothly today—and I'd like to thank all of you for coming out here today to share in this special occasion with the bride and groom. Everyone seems to be looking like they're having a wonderful time, and I've received word that Draco's going to be dancing a solo later this evening—"

"No, I'm not!" Draco shouts amid laughter.

"Well, I've said it so it has to be true," Harry says. "I have special authority as your best man. I guess if you knew either Draco or me during our years at Hogwarts, you're probably a little surprised to find me in this position. To be honest, I'm still a little surprised. But I can't possibly be happier. Draco is my best friend—and I am proud to be called his best man.

"But since we were school-yard rivals when we were kids, I have far too many embarrassing stories to tell about him, so I had to work very hard with Astoria to narrow it down to one that we decided wouldn't permanently damage his ego.

"This one, happened actually the first time I ran into Draco after school—"

"Oh, God—no!" Draco cries to the amusement of everyone present.

"I had just come back from a long trip and had stopped in the Leaky Cauldron for a butterbeer, when I ran into Daphne, who invited me to sit with her and her sister. However, she didn't know it was me at first, and to be honest, I had completely forgotten her name. Since we both were in this 'we should know each other, but we can't remember each other' stage, we just mutually agreed to sit together, and so I followed her back to her table. Waiting there, was Astoria... and Draco.

"Now, we were—as Draco likes to say—arch-nemeses during school. So, as a proper arch-nemesis would do, I immediately knew it was Draco Malfoy who was sitting across from me. After a second or two, Daphne and Astoria figured out who I was, and I knew who they were as well—but Draco? He had no idea.

"He first asked me if I had been home-schooled—and here I was thinking, dear Merlin—have I really changed that much? I didn't have a beard or moustache or anything! But he went on to tell me that I clearly did not go to school with them or he'd know who I was."

Draco groans loudly.

"When I told him that I very clearly knew who he was, he then concentrated very hard and then said—but I don't remember anyone who was Indian at Hogwarts."

This gets a ridiculous amount of laughter, and Draco buries his head in his arms. Harry laughs, "I just stared at him blankly. Astoria wisely mentioned the Patil twins—who were twins in Draco's year. They were just two of the—what was it? Seven total people with Indian heritage at Hogwarts in our year alone? Not to mention me? Your arch-nemesis?"

Draco buries himself further into the tablecloth in shame.

"So then, with a final shameful stab, Draco then said that I couldn't possibly be anyone who didn't like him at school, because otherwise I wouldn't be sitting there.

"I couldn't take it any longer. I burst out laughing. Here was Draco Malfoy—the kid I fought with almost religiously in school practically every single day and one—he didn't even realise the whole seven years we went to school together that I was Indian, and two—I clearly didn't even make that much of an impression on him to be even partially recognisable two years later.

But it got worse. Draco then said: What? It's not like you're Harry Potter."

This makes the whole crowd burst into laughter.

"He understood immediately once he said my name who I was. He was so embarrassed he got completely drunk and started rambling about how you can't fault someone for wearing comfortable clothing," Harry says, smiling. "He pestered me for weeks afterwards to go to his famed 'apology tea' and—and the rest is history. But it just goes to show how little the past matters to Draco. He's a new man—he's a better man. I'm proud to know Draco. And we've been the best of friends ever since."

Harry smiles. "I've been able to watch Astoria and Draco and their relationship and I know how strong it is. They love each other, and I am so grateful to have been a part of their special day. They are both dear friends to me, and I look forward to the years we have in front of us, and to the years they have together as a married couple. I wish them every happiness in the future. To the new Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy!"

The crowd applauds and toast the new couple. Draco stands up and gives Harry a hug. "You bastard—I'm never going to live that down."

"It's your fault for making me talk," Harry says, smiling.

The rest of the evening is spent in laughter, music, and dancing. The night is almost over, when a strange man in a uniform comes up to Draco and Astoria when Harry and Daphne are talking with them.

"Hello, sir," Draco says, extending his hand. He shakes the stranger's hand.

"Mr. Malfoy," he says in reply. "I was surprised to see Mr. Potter as your best man. I hadn't realised you two were friends."

Draco stiffens. "We're private people, sir. We didn't feel it was necessary for public knowledge."

The man shrugs, and turns to Harry, his entire demeanour changing. "It's very good to see you, Mr. Potter. The entire world has been wondering where you have been. You didn't mention anything about what you had been doing during your speech. Why was that?"

Harry is taken aback. "Because it wasn't about me? It was about Draco—this is his wedding. It's not about me."

"Well, that's not what the papers are going to report on," the man says.

"I'm sorry, but who are you?" Harry says.

"Oh, excuse me, Mr. Potter. I'm Auror Donovan Hughes. I'm Mr. Malfoy's parole officer."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Well then, Auror Hughes—you realise this is a wedding? It's supposed to be a joyous occasion."

Auror Hughes grins. "Oh, but you see, I've decided to create the final terms of Mr. Malfoy's parole sentence. A wedding gift, you could say."

Draco shifts uneasily.

"Is that so?" Astoria says quietly. "What is it, then?"

Auror Hughes turns to look at Draco. "In order to end your parole, you must work under Mr. Harry Potter for a period of ten years. Once those ten years of employment under Mr. Potter have been fulfilled, you will have completed your parole sentence and can be considered a rehabilitated citizen of the Ministry of Magic."

"Ten years?" Astoria asks, shocked. "That's three extra years—he was supposed to be done in 2008—this means he won't be off until 2011."

Auror Hughes grins maliciously. "Well, I don't like it when people pretend to be friends with celebrities and make up fake stories to sound good."

"That story wasn't fake," Harry says. "I can prove—"

"Drop it, Harry," Draco says. A depressed look washes over him. "It's not worth fighting. Alright. Do I have to continue to check in with you biweekly?"

"I think every other month should do. You will have Harry Potter watching your every move—if you're friends, this is a blessing. If you've been lying—well, this is a curse," Auror Hughes laughs before walking away.

The four of them stand there in horror. "Mother of Merlin—Draco, I am so sorry," Harry says.

Draco wipes his eye. "It's fine—it's fine. I'm fine. Is it alright if I go on my honeymoon, boss?"

Harry flinches. "Don't call me that. I'm not your boss. I'm your friend. I wasn't lying—you're my best friend. This hasn't been a hoax or anything—don't let that guy make you doubt it all. Go on your honeymoon—forget about all of this, and we can talk about it when you get back, okay? I'll figure something out."

Astoria wraps Draco in a hug. Daphne puts her hand on his shoulder. "He knows this isn't your fault. He's just lashing out. He only had 7 years left of his parole, and now his whole sentence has been practically started over."

Harry sighs while Daphne leads him away. "I just feel so horrible—if I wasn't here, maybe things would've turned out differently."

"Don't talk like that, Harry. Draco wanted you here. We all wanted you here. You've made Draco so much happier these past months—it's been so obvious to us. You've been the best friend he's had in ages. He's best friends with Astoria, but what you two have is something completely different—it's more brotherhood and a mutual understanding that you both had to do shitty things and that you can recover from that. He needs you to be his friend. You don't get to pretend what-if you weren't around. You don't get to do that," Daphne says angrily.

Harry thinks on those words for the rest of the night. The remainder of the reception has a soberer feel to it, but then they wave Astoria and Draco off for the evening—and then, the wedding is over.

---

Donovan Hughes is a respectable auror. He is the parole officer for thirteen "ex-Death Eaters" even though he knows that means absolutely nothing nowadays. He is absolutely sickened by what he saw at the Malfoy wedding. He wonders how much money it cost Malfoy to pay Harry Potter off to give such an elaborate speech, pretending to be his "best friend."

He walks into the Ministry on Monday morning after the wedding, and runs into the office. To his vast surprise, there were no articles about the wedding whatsoever. There must have been no press about the wedding, after his threat. All that money, he thinks, was wasted—the whole purpose of Harry Potter's speech was foiled because of his intervention. This, he thinks, is a good thing. He doesn't want people thinking these Death Eaters can actually reform. Once bad, always bad.

Donovan Hughes is at the office for several hours before he sees out of the corner of his eye one of his co-workers, the esteemed Ronald Weasley. He's never had a reason to talk to him before, but what he saw on Saturday certainly can be considered reason enough. Ronald Weasley will surely want to know what his true best friend is being paid to do, and what his punishment will be.

Donovan runs out of the space to catch up to the taller man. "Oi! Weasley! Wait up!" He shouts.

Weasley turns around, looks at Donovan in confusion, but waits. "What's up?" He asks.

"How long has Harry Potter been back?" Donovan asks once he's caught up and Weasley starts walking again.

Weasley stops dead in his step. "He's back? Where did you see him?"

Donovan barges straight ahead. "Yeah, he's back. He was at the Malfoy wedding on Saturday—I think he was bribed to pretend to be Malfoy's best man for good press. But once I changed Malfoy's parole requirements to work for Potter for ten years, they didn't release any articles about the wedding, so it must have scared them off."

Weasley stares at Donovan in obvious confusion. "He was at a wedding on Saturday? Here? In England?"

"Well, Scotland, if you want to be technical," Donovan says. "But yeah, he was. Said he'd been best mates with Malfoy since last year."

"Last year?" Weasley repeats.

"That's what I said," Donovan confirms. "You need a hearing test? I know someone who does them for free."

"I hear you just fine—I just don't understand," Weasley says. "Harry said he's been best mates with Malfoy since last year and he was at their wedding in Scotland on Saturday—and you know this because you saw and heard him say this?"

"Yeah, I was wondering if this was accurate or not—because you're his real best mate, everyone knows that," Donovan says.

Weasley shakes his head slowly. "This is the first I've heard of Harry being back in three years, Hughes. I guess I clearly am not his best mate after all."

Weasley stalks off down the corridor, and Hughes watches him go, slowly coming to terms with the fact that his conspiracy theory may have in fact been wrong. He shakes his head, though, dismissing that thought. He's never been wrong about Death Eaters, and Weasley was just trying to protect Potter's privacy. What a good friend. Donovan wishes he had friends as loyal as Weasley.

---

Harry receives the howler Tuesday morning. It is red, it is flaming, and it is not pleasant. It screams, as howlers tend to do, so that is not what is unusual about the message. What is unusual is that it is in the voice of Ronald Weasley.

Of all of the people Harry expected to scream at him, he never anticipated it would be Ron. He had anticipated it might have been Hermione, maybe Ginny—Molly Weasley, even. But never Ron.

But when he makes out the words, he begins to understand.

Someone told me today that you have been back home for over a year. What the bloody hell, Harry. I thought we were your friends—why didn't you tell us? Why didn't you tell me? We're your real friends, and now you're being bribed to be friends with Malfoy of all people? Best mates, huh? That's what I heard? What happened to everything we did for you over the years? You can't just decide we're no longer worth the time of day. Talk to us, Harry. Now.

Harry, instead of talking to Ron, talks to Daphne.

"I don't know what to do," he says. "Ron sounds so angry with me."

Daphne sighs with exasperation. "Well, what did you expect? You've been back for almost a year now, and you haven't spoken to them once. He had a point—I've no idea what you three did in '97 but it was obviously very difficult. They risked a lot for you."

"I know, and I've just completely shut them out," Harry says.

"And why did you do that?" Daphne asks.

"I was scared," Harry says. When Daphne gestures for him to continue, he elaborates, "I didn't want the pressure of being someone they thought I was when I didn't want to be that anymore. Not talking to them was easier than a rejection."

"Harry, if they reject you, then it doesn't matter because you have your own friends now. Just go talk to them. What's the worst that can happen?"

"They could kill me?" Harry says.

Daphne just scoffs and says, "Owl them, then meet them. Just don't invite them to your house. Go to their territory. Make sure you still have a safe place to retreat. Be smart about it."

And so Harry arranges to meet with Hermione and Ron a few weeks later in June. They invite him to their home—a quaint flat in London that makes Harry's skin ache because the building is so poorly built (Harry refuses to fix anything unless this meeting goes well).

Harry is invited in by, to his greatest surprise, a house-elf. He hasn't seen one of those in years—anyone on parole is forbidden to use one, so none of the Greengrasses or Draco have any. But before he thinks he is at the wrong house, he realises that this house-elf is Winky. They must have hired her, he thinks as she leads him into the sitting room. This is confirmed by the fact that as soon as the clock strikes 5, the house-elf perks up, then disappears, abandoning his half-poured tea. Luckily, she set the teapot down before leaving. Harry holds back a snicker, and finishes pouring his tea.

He waits only a few more seconds before he hears the door open and a bustle of clothes and in storms the combined chaos of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They're carrying several parcels of foodstuff. Hermione's eyes instantly well with tears, and she rips Ron's bags out of his hands and hurries down a hallways he didn't notice before. Ron takes a few steps into the sitting room, biting his lip.

"Hey," Harry offers, standing up as well. They stare at each other for a long time, until Ron breaks—he's crying and then walks forward and then they are hugging each other—and then Harry realises he's crying as well.

"Don't you ever bloody leave us like that again," Ron says, stepping out of the hug to shake Harry's shoulders and then wiping his eyes hastily. Harry does the same.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I'm sorry."

"Merlin, Harry—why did you do that to us?" Ron says.

"I was scared," Harry says.

"Scared of what?" This is Hermione's voice—wobbling with grief. She's standing at the entrance to the room almost accusingly, but her trembling frame betrays her faux anger.

"I was scared," Harry repeats himself. "Hermione—I'm so sorry."

Hermione hugs herself. She's also trying hard not to cry. "You hurt us, Harry. You never wrote, you never visited—you never came back when you said you would and we almost had given up and thought you died when we find out from a stranger that you were at a wedding?" She says. She's upset, but she's angry too—and she's not going to forgive until she's let out her anger.

"I know, I know—I messed up, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. There's no real excuse—I don't have any excuse, but let me explain? Maybe you can try and understand why I was so afraid?" Harry asks, hoping for the chance to ask for Hermione's forgiveness. He had not anticipated how important this would be to him. Seeing Ron and Hermione so heartbroken had broken a hardened piece of himself and he couldn't keep an aloof pretence any longer.

She twists her expression painfully, blinking back tears. "I want to forgive you, Harry, but I don't like it when people leave. Ron was gone only a few months—you were gone three years."

"She's right, mate," Ron says. "Not that what I did was okay, but three years is a long time without anything. Even a postcard—a small note saying that you're alive would have been nice, sometimes."

Harry closes his eyes and sits back down on the settee the house elf had led him to initially. "I messed up," he admits. "I really did. And the only reason I have was that I was scared."

"But what were you scared of? We're your friends—or at least we were, at one point," Hermione pleads.

Harry shakes his head in despair, "It's complicated."

"I think out of anyone, we're capable of understanding complicated," Ron says. He sits across from Harry with Hermione at his side.

Harry rubs his forehead. "Oh God—alright, bhainachod," he swears under his breath. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to do this at all.

"We're waiting," Hermione says, furrowing her brow as she tries to understanding what Harry just said in Hindi, not realizing it was a different language.

"Okay, I'm just trying to figure out where to start," Harry says. "But I guess—I left because I felt a whole lot of pressure from everyone—not just you two, but you two were part of it, I guess. You wanted me to join the aurors, or go back to Hogwarts, and I didn't want to do either of those things—please, don't interrupt, I know you probably think that isn't true, but it's definitely what I felt was true, and if I keep getting interrupted, I'm never going to finish this story," he says, cutting off Ron and Hermione's words of protest at his comments.

They nod bitterly. Harry continues, "I felt pressured to be something I didn't want to be. With Voldemort gone, my whole purpose for being alive was... gone, almost. The prophecy was fulfilled, and I could finally live my life the way I wanted to. But the thing was, with everyone pulling me every which way, as their hero and 'savior' and wanting me to be an auror, or go back to school, or do this and that—I couldn't take it anymore. I didn't know if what I wanted to do was what I had practically been told to do or what I had set myself up to do in the case that Voldemort was still around after school was finished, which was to become stronger so I could be alive. But he was gone now, so I could reconsider my options. And since he was gone at such a pivotal point in my life—everyone wanted something from me. My attention, my endorsement, my name. But no one really seemed to care what I wanted anymore. And I wanted to be left alone, you know? I never liked the attention, but I had more of it than ever before. You know that, you know how it was those couple months after the battle. I was being mobbed anywhere I went. I couldn't figure out if what I was doing was what I liked or what I was told to like."

"Harry, you never told us any of this," Hermione says hesitantly when Harry stops to take a breath. "We were worried about you—you had changed so much since the battle. We thought that you needed to be doing something to distract you—it's what all of the experts on recovering from traumatic experiences suggest."

Harry sighs. "And I'm not saying that they're wrong. I might have had PTSD, but I didn't have it as bad as you thought—"

"Harry—you were completely different! You didn't laugh at the same jokes, you didn't react the same when we would tease you, you never argued back with someone when they were clearly wrong, it just wasn't you!" Ron says.

"No—that's the thing you're not understanding," Harry starts.

"We do understand—that's PTSD. You felt guilty constantly and you were blaming us for your issues, you didn't enjoy the same activities, you couldn't sleep at night because you had bad dreams, you were on edge all the time around us, you purposefully avoiding anyone talking about the battle. That's textbook PTSD, Harry. Textbook," Hermione says.

"No—no, just—let me finish what I was saying—" Harry says.

"Harry—you're probably still suffering from it, and that's probably why you were so scared to come back to England—that's why you were gone so long, oh Merlin, it's all making so much more sense," Hermione says.

"I don't have PTSD!" Harry exclaims. "I changed because the horcrux was removed!"

Hermione and Ron still. It's quiet, until Ron speaks up, "Harry—you had to die for that to happen. If that doesn't qualify you for PTSD then I don't know what else could."

"Merlin, you're not understanding it!" Harry says angrily. "It had affected—"

"Please, don't get angry with us," Hermione interjects. "We just want the best for you."

Harry stares at them with blatant confusion. They are so insistent on their PTSD explanation—just as they were three years ago—that they refuse to see the reason for what it was. Yes, the whole horcrux removal was traumatising, but he knew it was coming and had mentally prepared for it.

He was guilty because he didn't know how to tell his friends he didn't know how to explain that who he was as a person had fundamentally changed. He was blaming them because they were pushing him into a career he didn't want. He didn't enjoy the same activities because he had apparently never enjoyed them in the first place—that was the influence of the horcrux. He didn't sleep at night because he was trying to figure out what to do with his life and it was the only time he was alone. And bad dreams? Everyone had bad dreams. He was on edge at the time because they were constantly attacking him about his future, and he avoided talking about the battle because who the hell wants to talk about a battle where he died and then wakes up a completely different person?

He doesn't have PTSD. He loves Ron and Hermione. He loves them dearly, but he can't understand why they weren't letting him explain himself. Harry just sits there in bewilderment. If he tries to explain again—they will think he is denying the PTSD charge. If he lets it go—they'll think he was accepting the PTSD charge. There is no way to win here.

So he sits there in silence until they say something else. He's not going to respond—let them think what they will. Silence is better than an actual agreement, he thinks. So he will not respond.

Hermione softens her posture. "We care about you, Harry. We want you to be well. Please, I've a list of names that you really ought to consider visiting for some help."

Harry takes the slip of parchment from her hand half-heartedly. This is no victory.

He stays there for as long as is socially acceptable. They ask him what his occupation is (of course, Harry thinks), and Harry responds vaguely. He doesn't want his name attached to his company. He is almost positive they would tell someone, but he doesn't want them to think he is doing nothing so he says he's working on "spell development" which makes Hermione brighten. When she inquires on details, Harry says that it's "classified for now" and that makes Hermione beam—"so you are working for the Ministry!" and Harry doesn't correct her. Whatever they want to think, he understands now, will be what they believe.

They part, on somewhat better terms—in reality, it is poor terms for Harry, who feels hurt that they would not listen to what he had to say; in Hermione and Ron's opinion, they feel optimistic about their relationship. Together, they decide that they will have to meet up sometime soon. They will owl each other, Harry suggests, about open times.

But Harry feels confident that he will not have any available dates in the future. He will write standard letters in response to their own. They will be vague, uninteresting. But Harry is certain that he will rarely meet up with Hermione and Ron again. He will always dearly love them—but he was hurt by this meeting. He was hurt by their assumption that he simply must have a mental illness. Although, Harry muses, the horcrux technically was a mental illness—this makes him laugh momentarily when he thinks that he was just misdiagnosed, but then his mood turns dark again.

No matter who it is, it hurts to not be believed. But, then again, a part of him is quietly glad that only Draco knows about the effect the horcrux removal had on him. This same part is quietly glad that he didn't have to try and find a way to introduce his old friends to his new friends and that he doesn't have to mediate the disaster that would be. It is also quietly glad that he wouldn't have to make a choice at that hypothetical scenario of choosing who to support—because he would shatter his old friend's hearts by aligning with his new. This way, at least, he can maintain some contact with them. They think he's involved in top secret work at the Ministry—their ideal job for him—and this way he can pretend he is on business trips whenever they want to meet with him—this will work out. He can make everyone happy this way, or so he hopes, at least.

When Astoria and Draco return from their honeymoon, Harry is waiting for Draco to come over one morning with a piece of parchment in front of him. It lists their options for Draco's new parole requirements.

Draco shows up through the floo and shouts out a greeting and makes his way to the kitchen.

Harry nods hello, and passes over a cup of tea his direction. Draco murmurs appreciatively before asking, "What've you got there?"

"Our options," Harry says. "I'm guessing your parole officer wasn't joking at your wedding."

Draco sighs. "He wasn't, I got an owl the day after. It's been made official and everything. Am I to trim your shrubs, oh great employer of mine?"

Harry scoffs. "No, you'd do a horrible job," he says.

Draco grins wryly. "I probably would. But seriously, what am I doing? It has to be something real, too. Not some fake job. I'm not going to take advantage of you like that. I'll be your chef, your property manager—you name it, I'll do it. Whatever you want." He goes on to rattle out a list of jobs that grow ever more preposterous.

Harry shakes his head. "No, no. I'm not going to make you do anything like that. I was thinking about asking you to join me at Living Stone."

Draco pauses in his diatribe after saying "personal water closet attendee" and gapes at Harry. "You're pulling my leg."

Another shake of the head. "No, I'm dead serious. You're able to sense all of the spells. I think you'd actually do really well," Harry says. "And I could use another person. I'm getting more commissions than I can handle on my own."

"But—I don't want to intrude on your business—this is your passion. I don't want to destroy its reputation by including an ex-Death Eater. If I mess something up, you'll end up looking bad," Draco says.

"I'm pretty sure you'll do fine," Harry says. "And I'm already writing out a privacy contract all customers have to sign before we work with them—the business is getting too popular and I don't want anyone to figure out who I am. That way, your whole sordid past won't affect anything."

Draco nods slowly.

"I've also thought about the whole employer-employee thing. I don't think that would work well for us. If you come into the business—you'll be a partner, a co-owner. Technically, I'll be the one paying you, but we'll be making all the decisions about the company and its direction together. It'll be our company," Harry says.

Draco is so surprised his eyes water. "Harry—Harry, you can't do that. I don't deserve that, I can't be... your business partner in this," he protests.

"Well, it's either this, or, what was it? My personal water closet attendee?" Harry says.

Draco is overwhelmed. "Merlin, Harry—you're too generous. You're too generous, you can't just give half of your company away to people just because you like them. You don't even know me, hardly. I could cheat you out of it—"

"But you won't," Harry says. "You won't do that, because I do know you. I know who you were, I know who you are, and I know who you are still going to be. You're my best friend, Draco. I know you. And I want to do this for you."

"Daphne told Tori you reconciled with Weasley, though. Wouldn't you want him as your partner instead? They're your real friends," Draco insists.

Harry chokes. "She said what? Merlin—no. Hardly. They didn't listen to a thing I had to say and they believe the same story they've been telling themselves for the past three years. That I've had PTSD so bad I ran away from England and from them and I've only now just recovered enough to return. They didn't listen to me when I tried to explain that it wasn't it so I just gave up. I'm letting them think whatever they want about me—they don't know me anymore. They know who I was. You know who I am. You're a real friend,"" Harry says.

"I can't talk about feelings this early in the morning," Draco says. He looks around the kitchen, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Harry. "I have to talk with Astoria about this, you know."

Harry nods. "Go tell her now. I need you back here in an hour though. Today's your first day."

Astoria is thrilled, and so Draco joins Harry at Living Stone Architecture as Harry's partner. The company is split evenly between the two of them, after they sort out the necessary paperwork (Draco laughs when he sees that it officially belongs to Advait Bajwa and not Harry Potter) and then it is official. Living Stone Architecture belongs to the both of them.

Draco is a quick study in the architectural magic. He's not as sensitive to the magic as Harry; he doesn't have quite the same instinctive flair for it as Harry does, but Draco is competent and whatever he lacks he makes up for in determination.

When Harry shows him the Living Stone spell, Draco is amazed. He tries to cast it, and finds he is completely exhausted afterwards, unlike Harry. Draco is smart enough to start carrying blood replenishing potions and pepper-up potions with them whenever they're at a stage where they use their spells.

They make all future commissions require a privacy contract. This only stops a few commissions from going through, but they still have far more than they can handle. They create a waiting list, and so their business is successful.

Harry is happy. He has good friends, he has enjoyable work. His life is good.